Between the Bars
by Moonchild10
Summary: Murphy was content with just Anne's forgiveness, and anything else she gave him was purely something extra. He certainly didn't expect her to give him quite so much extra. AnnexMurphy, warning for sexual content.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill, and I don't profit from writing this fic.**

**This is slightly AU in the fact that it's post-game and doesn't follow a SPECIFIC ending, but not really in any other way XD I just thought the setting might be interesting for this sort of fic.**

Sleep came surprisingly easy for Murphy in Wayside Max, even given the fact that it was a much more grim and eerie place than Ryall. It never really bothered him too much when he was shaken from sleep, knowing he could just drift off again once any sort of disturbance had passed. The disturbance tonight came in the form of a by now familiar soft clang against the bars of his cell, and he slowly let his eyes ease open as he sat up.

"Mmmmnffff, what?" he asked sleepily, the slightly blurry face of Anne Cunningham swimming into clearer focus on the other side of the bars. He could recall a time when she would have been the last person in the world he'd wanted to see, but when she was appealing to extend his sentence further for the attack on her father, she had come across something (though he was still never entirely certain what it had been) that made her have a complete change of heart and believe his claims of innocence in the act. Whatever it was, it was clearly not anything that would be valid in court, but since then she had become decidedly more docile toward him, even friendly at times. Despite the rocky start to their relationship, Murphy tentatively figured he could even consider her a friend in this harsh and brutal world, this universe of white painted steel bars and rows above rows of tiny cells that was Wayside. She was the only person who believed him, especially here, and with Frank not around to attest to the fact that it had been Sewell who had attacked him, she was the closest thing to salvation he could ever hope for. Somehow, having her around was almost like having Frank still alive, having someone he could depend on, in a sense. As embarrassing as it was, the Coleridge family (well, Coleridge-Cunningham, he supposed) were the only people in the world he had ever felt truly cared for him. There was Carol and there was Charlie, but, he thought bitterly, look how that turned out.

"Keep your voice down," she told him. Just because the two of them had struck up an odd sort of camaraderie during the several months he had been imprisoned here didn't mean she was any less harsh with him than with any other prisoner. At times, he swore she was _more_ harsh with him than the others. It was just as well, anyway. Some bizarre and sick part of Murphy craved the abuse.

"What is it?" he asked more quietly, getting up from his bed and moving over to the bars. He gripped two of them in his hands and stared at her. He made sure to keep his voice soft to avoid waking the other prisoners. If they saw the two of them talking like this, they would start to assume he was getting special treatment, and the natural reason for that in most cases was that the prisoner in question was a snitch. He would never be able to survive here if anyone had that sort of notion about him. "What are you waking me up for this time, Anne?"

"Officer Cunningham," she reminded him impatiently, and Murphy sighed.

"What are you waking me up for this time, Officer Cunningham?" he corrected himself, honestly a bit embarrassed. He always referred to her as Anne in his head, and it normally never interfered with what came out of his mouth. Tonight was shaping up to be an odd one already.

"I think I might have gotten a break on your case," she informed him, looking more excited than he had ever seen her look before. He had seen her violently angry (with him, no less), but he had never seen her passionate about anything else and it was a bit fascinating. "I'm in charge of doing the headcount tonight, and while I was doing the rounds and thinking about how we needed security cameras in the cell blocks and not just in the common areas, and it hit me. There was no security camera footage of when the act actually took place, but there must have been some of you leaving the showers _before_ it happened, right?"

"I guess so," Murphy agreed with a shrug, not wanting to get his hopes up. He wasn't entirely sure why she was. She was a realistic woman, he knew that much. Why she was so invested in his innocence was beyond him. "But can they really pin down when the... when what happened actually happened to the minute? Because if not..."

Anne looked frustrated. "I can't believe I didn't think about that," she muttered, shaking her head. "I guess I was just so relieved to have made progress..."

"It's okay, it's something at least," Murphy told her firmly. She was standing near the bars and he reached through them and touched her arm lightly. Anne paused for a moment, and fixed him with an unreadable stare. He had never touched her before. The only time guards in Wayside generally touched prisoners was to subdue them, and Murphy, being a docile sort of person, was not the kind of prisoner who ever needed subdued. Deciding, for the time being, to leave his hand where it was, Murphy let her stare him down. There had always been an odd sort of electricity between the two of them, even when it had been of the negative sort, and he could feel it sparkle in the air now, creating invisible shockwaves, patterns of energy between them. It was an invisible force that he could feel reverberating, a kind of almost seductive spark between them. Murphy had to look away briefly, though he could still feel the heat of her skin through the sleeve of her uniform jacket. When he looked back at her, she was still watching him almost curiously, penetrating green eyes cutting right through him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked finally, and she raised an eyebrow in question. "Helping me. Looking into my case. Trying to prove I wasn't behind what happened. Why are you doing it?"

"Because you're innocent," she answered him simply. "Not of the crime that put you away in the first place, but innocent of anything that could put you in a maximum security prison. I can't sit here and watch as an innocent man serves an extended sentence for something he didn't do. It's inhuman."

"How can you just... completely change your mind about me like this? When we were in Silent Hill—"

"Because I was wrong then," Anne interjected, cutting him off. Murphy had learned long ago that she did not like to talk about the things they had seen in Silent Hill, nor any of the things that had happened between them. "When you realize you were wrong, you admit your mistake and you try to fix it." her voice was so firm that it was impossible not to believe her. "That's what my father always said, and I've always lived by it. We're going to get you out of this, because it's not what you _deserve_."

"Maybe it is," Murphy argued, glancing away. "Maybe it's what I deserve. Why do you do this? I don't understand it. Why do you... believe in me like this? It never ends well for anybody."

"Shut up," Anne snapped, and it caught Murphy off guard, though it was not an uncommon thing for her to say to him. "Enough with all of this bullshit, Pendleton. I've seen enough working here to know someone who deserves what they're getting, and you're not one of them. You're not some low-life criminal. My father saw it, and now I'm seeing it too. So stop all the second-guessing and just trust me. You're not _like_ them," she gestured behind her to encompass the other prisoners, and Murphy was eerily reminded of Frank saying the same thing to him once, not long before he'd left for good. "You don't belong here. Your sentence for auto theft was as good as over. You should be out of here by now."

"I just—"

"You just nothing. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you say you deserve what you're getting, because that's just goddamned ridiculous. You're a _good man_, Pendleton. Unless the next thing that's going to come out of your mouth is an agreement, then just shut up and accept it. Because I'm not interested in hearing your argument about how you're not who I think you are, or any of that. I already went through my share of misconceptions about you, and I know what kind of man you are now. So if you're finished going on about how godawful you are, maybe we can get somewhere on this."

Murphy just stared at her in shock for a moment, not really sure what to make of the things she was saying. Then he allowed himself a moment of silence to just mull the words over in his head. It had been years since anyone had said anything so meaningful to him and though she said it all in her characteristically harsh way, it still resonated deeply within him. Before he could really keep his actions in check, his hand dropped from her arm and closed loosely around the collar of her coat, tugging her forward. It wasn't a rough yank, just a gentle pull that brought her closer to the bars, and without allowing his brain to process the possible outcomes of the action, he pressed his lips hungrily to hers.

Murphy wasn't entirely sure how he expected her to react. Anger, maybe, surprise, definitely. But what he didn't expect was what happened, and that was the normally icy and not at all accommodating Anne Cunningham returning the kiss with fervor, one of her hands sliding up the back of his neck to twist her fingers in his hair. Murphy was not a man for jumping to conclusions, but the _heat_ behind it, the way she gripped the front of his prison jumpsuit through the bars, made him feel like this might not be the first time she had considered doing this. At the intensity behind her returned kiss his breath caught momentarily in his throat. There was really no sense in pulling back now, not when it could be awkward if he did and right now it wasn't.

One of them—he wasn't really certain who in the daze he was currently in—deepened the kiss and Murphy let his hands move up to cup her cheeks, though it was a bit awkward because to do it he had to maneuver his arms so there were bars between his wrists and her, and it was slightly hard to keep them there. It was worth it, though, for the soft hum that seemed almost involuntary working its way out of her throat and for the warmth of her cheeks under his hands, softer than he had imagined. Her hand was still in his hair, fingers gently rubbing his scalp, and all of this was as wonderful as it was bizarre. Murphy had not kissed someone in ages, in all the long years he had spent behind bars. The warmth of her lips, the feel of her skin under his hands... it had not even occurred to him how starved for affection he had been this whole time and now he clung to her like a drowning man to a life raft. The way her fingers splayed out gently against the back of his neck, messing with his hair, was like surfacing after years underwater. It was like breathing again.

This heat between them seemed already to have engulfed both of them, along with their self-control, without either of them noticing. Anne was nibbling gently on his bottom lip now, and he groaned deep in his throat and pressed his tongue to her lips, his confusion about why she was returning his kiss rapidly being replaced with a growing desire for more of her. It may not have been right and it may not have been wise, but it was growing like an ache in his being and he'd be damned if he stopped kissing her before she gave some sort of indication that she wanted him to. In the split second between when he let his tongue brush the softness of her mouth and when she gasped slightly into his mouth and grazed her tongue against his, he swore the temperature of the air around them rose considerably.

Anne's hand let go of the front of his jumpsuit now and flatted her hand against his chest, fingertips caressing him there. It may have been just the heat of the moment going to his head, but Murphy swore he could feel the need in her touch. Their tongues were grappling now, not a battle for dominance but a frantic struggle to express whatever sort of passion this was. Murphy couldn't believe this was happening, not really, especially not here. There were hundreds of sleeping prisoners all around them, a few that they would most definitely be visible to if they were to wake, and yet the normally cool-headed officer was kissing him as passionately as he had ever been kissed. It had never been quite like this with anyone else, had never been on this level of intensity before. It was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced, and they weren't even having sex. They were simply kissing each other—something Murphy had probably done with a dozen or more women in the past—and it was almost like they were making love.

Feeling her body pressing against his as closely as it could through the bars, Murphy moaned softly, even the inconvenience of the bars and the bulkiness of her coat unable to diminish the excitement of feeling her body against his. He felt like a horny virgin, like some kind of high school kid having his first makeout session with how intensely it was affecting him. It would be embarrassing if he thought she would care. Somehow, it was obvious to him that she wasn't going to waste time being either judgmental or amused. She wasn't the kind of woman who bothered with much that wasn't necessary. And the more she kissed him, the more he felt that maybe this _was_ necessary for both of them. He didn't know about her, but it had been so long since he had experienced something like this that it almost felt like the first time again. The way her trembling hand caressed the lines of his chest through his jumpsuit, it made him feel like maybe it had been a while for her too.

When her hand found the zipper on the front of the gaudy orange prison-issue garment, it woke him up and he let himself touch her finally, letting go of her cheeks and running his hands down her sides. She was surprisingly receptive to his touch, pausing momentarily in her unzipping of his clothes to hum softly into his mouth. And then her hands were inside the unzipped jumpsuit and were sliding up under his shirt, touching a torso scarred from prison life and Silent Hill and a life previously as an occasionally rather clumsy mechanic. Her hands on him were warm, fingertips skittering across his skin and reawakening sensations long forgotten. There was little gentleness in prison to speak of and feeling it at the hand of this person who had once despised him was as surprising as it was meaningful. Her fingers found his nipple and pinched it gently, and Murphy arched into her touch, far too strong of a reaction for something so simple, he was sure. It _did_, however, open the floodgates in a sense. Some invisible barrier was crossed then and he felt comfortable slowly unzipping her coat, still kissing her with a passion he swore he had forgotten in his time incarcerated.

Inside the dark blue jacket his hands touched her through the thin blue material of the uniform shirt, skimming over the buttons, achingly tracing the curves of her body. A bit cautiously Murphy risked touching her breasts through the cotton and polyester, and her sharp intake of breath did little to help the problem of his growing arousal but did cement his belief that she wanted him as much as he wanted her at the moment. Clearly sex was not going to happen, not in front of all these sleeping prisoners, not with the obstacle of the cell's bars in the way. But that didn't mean the motions they made with their hands were any less intense, even without the promise of release. It wasn't about that, not now. It wasn't about sex, or even about attraction, though there was certainly plenty it... on his end, at least. It was about _need_. The slight trembling of her hands as she caressed the bare skin of his body was proof that she felt it just as acutely as he did.

The heat in this kiss, in the almost feral tangling of tongues and lips between them, was impossible to ignore. Hands massaging her breasts through the material of shirt and bra, part of Murphy wasn't sure if he was going to wake up and have just imagined all of this. It was too surreal, like a feverish dream. One that he wasn't going to deny having occasionally, though he'd be damned if he'd admit it out loud. That fierce determination about her, the way she put up that wall of toughness to make herself seemingly invulnerable had been what had impressed him about Anne Cunningham at first. But what had kicked off his bizarre and—until now. Now he wasn't sure _what_ to think—clearly unreciprocated attraction to her was her impulsiveness, oddly enough... the earnest quality to her, the way she went with her gut and rarely second-guessed herself in the end. Even now, every gasp, every kiss, every pattern her fingertips traced on his skin seemed to be simply on instinct. It just made it all more intense, that lack of thought or planning, complete absence of pretense.

Both of them were running purely on instinct tonight, it seemed. Murphy's hands knew what to do on their own even after so many years, knew to drift to her belt buckle and to the button and zipper on her faded jeans. The deep and unrestrained moan that tore out of her throat when he touched her was more rewarding than anything had been in years. After that initial lapse Anne remembered to be quiet, which was crucial in this dim corridor lousy with prisoners. She kissed him all the more fervently for it, seeming to be trying to pour out the intensity of her reactions to his fingers on her through the contact between their mouths rather than possibly disastrous vocalizations. It was gratifying, the way her body pressed harder against the bars and her thoughts for self-preservation seemed to have flown directly out the window. Right now he was seeing a side of her that he never had before, a side that was just as needy and as vulnerable as anyone else. And she needed _him_. It was odd to realize. The raspiness of her breathing and the way her trembling hips pressed hard against the bars was proof of it. It felt strange to be needed, even if it was only for these brief moments, but that wasn't to say he didn't enjoy it.

As the moments wore on, Murphy continued to touch her, paying attention to her involuntary cues and using every minuscule indication her reactions gave him to push her closer to the edge. The more frantic she became, the more Murphy wanted her, the more he wanted to hear his name spill raggedly past her lips as he got her where she wanted to go. He was all the more intense in its ministrations for this desire, and Anne responded accordingly, breaking away from the kiss to bite down on her lip. Murphy's lips moved to her neck, kissing her wetly where he could feel her pulse dancing, dragging his mouth up and down her throat. Anne still had her hands inside his shirt and now they were clutching his back as best they could with the obstacle of the bars in the way. As hard as she was obviously trying to control herself, small sounds were escaping Anne's throat. She was pressed hard to the bars, her body tense, and Murphy could almost feel her want. He pressed a last kiss to her neck and drew back enough that he could look at her face. Anne's eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, and the sight of the normally coolheaded correctional officer with sweaty auburn hair that was escaping from her ponytail plastered to her forehead was more arousing than he had imagined anything could be.

"Say my name," he whispered softly, and Anne's eyes shot open. She looked him straight in the eye with an intensity he was accustomed to and wet her lips with her tongue.

"Pendleton," she breathed quietly, not taking her eyes off of his. Their gazes remained locked until she climaxed, and he could almost feel the heat of her gaze on him as her body tensed against him, her ragged breathing hitching and the hips that had been previously grinding against the bars freezing. There was something so uncomfortably arousing about watching her come, watching _her_ watching _him_ as she did that Murphy felt lightheaded momentarily. There had been no hint of shame or regret in that moment, though that look she had given him made it clear she was perfectly aware of exactly what they were doing. A prison guard and an inmate. It was so morally reprehensible that Murphy wanted to get her off all over again. Anne had stepped back slightly and she was gripping the bars tightly now, hands no longer inside his jumpsuit. Murphy let his forehead rest against hers without really thinking about it and she looked surprised, eyes opening and rising up to meet his, though he was sure he looked as distorted from her point of view this close up as she did from his. For a moment neither of them said a word, simply stared. Then Anne drew back to a distance where she could actually see him and regarded him with a curious look for a moment.

"What?" he asked her finally, after being oggled like a museum piece for what he felt like had been long enough.

"Will you be quiet?" Anne whispered sharply. "I'm trying to think."

He was, following her desires as obediently as he had when his hand had been inside her pants, which she zipped now, still focusing hard on him. He was moving to zip his jumpsuit when finally she moved, batting his hands away and letting one of her hands slide back inside the garment, the other sliding the zipper down all the way. This time it didn't move up to his torso, however. It moved unexpectedly downward and Murphy groaned hoarsely when she touched him, at the same time using her free hand to tug his underwear down just marginally, enough to give her better access to him. He honestly hadn't been expecting that; he knew it wasn't wise to do something so conspicuous in this sort of situation. Him touching her had been one thing. That was easy to hide. This certainly wasn't. He was sure she realized this. It was probably what she had been pondering over before she'd started doing this. Honestly though the consequences could be disastrous if someone happened by to do a headcount, Murphy was glad she had chosen to do this in spite of the risk. It had been so long since any hand but his own had done this, and it was difficult to contain himself. Anne built up a steady pace and then started kissing him slowly, so seductively that it caught him off guard and probably unintentionally making her power over him even clearer. He didn't mind not being in the position of power in a relationship, even a sexual one. There was something sexy about being at the mercy of a lover from time to time, and with Anne's naturally dominant temperament this was nearly unavoidable. Murphy kissed her back, just letting her lead and reveling in the slow way she let her tongue graze his. After all her mindless intensity before, it was somewhat nostalgic in a strange way to see her so in control again.

It was harder than he could have imagined to keep himself quiet when she was touching him this way and Murphy focused on the kiss, on the cold of the bars against his body even through the cloth. His hips were bare and they felt the brunt of the coldness, but even the mild discomfort did nothing to take away from the sheer perfection of the way she made him feel. It felt so natural, almost as though they had been doing this to each other for decades. She knew exactly how to kiss him, how to touch him, as though she _knew_ his body. He wondered if it was possible to read someone sexually through everyday platonic interactions, because there had to be some explanation for why this surpassed any other sexual encounter he'd had in the past, even though it was in a drafty prison with dozens of potential voyeurs in sight with someone he had only ever interacted with on a strictly professional level. It felt like she knew exactly what he wanted, and he certainly wasn't complaining.

Murphy kissed her more intensely as she kept it up, losing patience with the slow and deliberate sensuality, as much as he did honestly enjoy it. He needed to lose control and needed to express his desperation, and he swore he could feel her smile with something that might have been satisfaction against his mouth. Her free hand was back on his torso, exploring the ridges of his collarbone, the lean muscle of his chest. The extra stimulation from the simple act of her caressing his upper body just made it all that much more intense and it was difficult to hold his hips still, to let the pleasure come completely from her. He could feel the tension pooling inside of him, every muscle clenching with the impending inevitability of his release.

Anne drew back to look at him as he had done to her when it became obvious how close to the brink he was, and she locked her fiery green eyes with his. There was something there that made him even more acutely needy, a sort of desperation that he was sure was clear in his own eyes as well at this moment.

"I want you," she told him in a pointed whisper, catching him off guard. Her eyes never left his. "Somehow, some way. I don't care how it happens." she was such a direct person that he supposed he should have expected her to be so outright about expressing the sentiment, but it still took him a moment to process what she had said.

"We'll... figure something out," Murphy replied, surprised that he could even talk at all. His voice was unsurprisingly raspy and uneven. Their eyes remained locked with an added intensity now that their desires were no longer unspoken and Murphy's breathing was becoming more labored. Anne's penetrating eyes stayed glued to his when his entire body tensed and froze, and he managed to swallow every sound but a soft grunt as he finished, slumping against the bars.

For a moment, nothing was spoken. Anne continued to watch him curiously, and then she slowly slid his underwear back into place and tucked his shirt back down around his middle, zipping his jumpsuit back up to his chest. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and Murphy just looked back at her, not really sure if he was capable of a facial expression appropriate for the level of relief and gratitude he felt at the moment. She kissed him again then, no longer aroused and needy but still with the passion from moments ago. Murphy kissed her back and stood still while she brushed some sweaty hair back from his forehead. She gave him a rare smile, a small one that nevertheless transformed her entire face. She looked much younger and prettier with such a relaxed expression and it was impossible not to return the look. He could see that unmistakable resemblance to Frank when she smiled. Even though she was by nature a rather harsh and demanding person despite her usually buried sweetness, she had the same sort of benevolent quality that her father had always had, and he thought of telling her this but she pressed her lips to his ear before he could.

"I meant what I said," she told him. "It wasn't just something I was saying to cheer you up. I really do think you're a good man."

Murphy didn't say anything to that. What could he really say? 'Thank you' seemed appropriate but it was small and insignificant when compared with the things he wanted to be able to accurately express with words not yet invented, things he wanted to tell her that meant everything and nothing at all. He supposed the way her fingertips brushed his cheek gently were as accurate a way as any to sum up the things he wanted to say to her and he returned the gesture, surprised at the way she leaned instinctively into his touch. Her eyes met his once more but this time she didn't look intense or challenging like she normally did. She looked thoughtful and there was a softness to her gaze that wasn't normally there, an almost childish little half-smile playing at her mouth. It was his first-ever glimpse of Anne Cunningham letting her guard down, and he liked it enough to smile warmly at her, his hand still on her cheek. They said nothing for a while, simply staying like that with Anne allowing him to see through her shield of impenetrable toughness for long enough to feel a telltale tug in his chest before she stepped away, dislodging the gentle contact between them.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Pendleton," she told him in a more businesslike and more conventional Anne tone, giving him a nod that amused him a little with the memory of her being so needy not long ago still fresh in his mind. "When I'm doing rounds. Keep yourself out of trouble."

"Sure," he replied, still giving her a probably unwisely tender smile. There was nothing in her eyes that said she minded. "See you tomorrow." he watched as she gave him a last faint, slightly restrained smile before turning and starting down the hall between the cells, and he weighed his options quickly. "Hey, Officer Cunningham?"

"Yeah?" the guard asked, turning around and glancing at him over her shoulder.

"You know, when all the showers are running, it fogs up the cameras. It makes it impossible to see what's going on in there."

Anne paused briefly, and then a smile crept over her lips. Unspoken in that moment was the knowledge of what would happen when that steam was billowing, and Murphy felt a twinge of excitement at what was impending. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied before giving him a look that made him want her anew before turning back and striding away down the hall with her usual purposeful gait, leaving him alone in his cell.

Late into the night, Murphy was unable to get the image of Anne pressed against the bars, eyes locked with his as her body trembled with the intensity of her orgasm out of his head. It was his first sleepless night in years.


End file.
